Back To Juleyland Day Five 15 Jun Fri: Leh Acclimatisation and Permits

Day Five 15 June Fri: Leh Acclimatisation and Permits The night of 14^th was not very restful. I was quite tired and slept fitfully.

The day dawned bright and sunny. We took our time in getting ready; there was no hurry as we had planned to spend the day in acclimatising to high altitude and getting the permits necessary for our sightseeing.

At breakfast, Mrs Dolkar advised us to take things easy that day, recounting instances where complacent tourists had suffered severely due to non-observance of the rule “When in the land of the Lama, don’t be a Gama”. The meal was diverse – traditional Ladakhi bread with butter, jam and tea and omelets. The bread was as delicious as it was filling, the Sun was streaming on the small patio and we were content.

At around 1030 AM, we split up. I went to the local Army headquarters to get permission to visit Siachen base camp while Neville, Fakhru and Shubham went to the DC’s office for permits to Khardung La and Pangong Tso.

At HQ 14 Corps, I met a staff officer who was quite amazed that I was doing this trip. But he understood and empathized instantly when I gave him the reason to do it. The rest was done in a jiffy – a few phone calls to HQ 102 Infantry Brigade (the Siachen brigade) and other places – and I was done. He reminded me have my identity card on my person just to avoid any hassles. After a cup of tea and some small talk, I was out in the sunshine. Leh was pretty warm that day and the light breeze was refreshing.

Neville, Fakhru and Shubham had gone to the DC’s office for permits and they returned in time for lunch. They said that Khardung La and Chang La were allowed but nobody was being permitted to Chushul. They had told the person at the desk that they had a serving officer of the Army with them but this did not cut any ice – only I could go, alone. This was no fun so we dropped the Chushul leg altogether.

A no-go for Chushul meant that our schedule needed to be changed. So this is what we planned:
The changed schedule gave us two extra days so we were happy, though I was sad at not seeing Chushul again. I had some nice memories of that place.

Dinner that evening was at the Tibetan Rice Bowl, a restaurant we had passed on our way to the main market. It was a cozy place and seemed to be managed by a husband-wife-kids team. The menu was excellent, lots of non-veg dishes and different cuisines at that. We were very hungry so asked for what turned out to be too much for even the five of us, courtesy the generous portions. And we had to eat the whole meal as none of us felt like wasting anything. The result was that Fakhru and I had tummy upsets.

Well, it was all par for the course; we really could not expect to stay completely okay throughout the journey. At least we had carried medication for just this malady so would hopefully be alright in a day or two.

Back To Juleyland Day Six 16 Jun Sat: Leh To Sasoma

Day Six 16 June: Khardung La/SasomaSouth Pullu As usual, the others had gone ahead of me on the climb. I ground my way up, slowly, laboriously, coaxing the bike onwards. They also went ahead of South Pullu. I pulled up alongside the Corps of Military Police check post and registered the details of the team. There was a fair crowd there.

One Qualis pulled up to disgorge its load of tourists. As the doors opened, the strains of a very familiar song which I cannot recollect now, wafted through the air. It lent a festive touch to the scene.

I caught up with the rest of the team and now, I moved ahead. The snow started becoming thicker on the ground as I climbed and it became more difficult to breathe normally yet, I was aware of this issue so did not face any difficulty.

A Really Bad Ditch About 500m short of the pass, there was crunchy snow and ice on the road. The bike was slipping and skidding a bit but as the tyres were quite new, I was able to get a good grip. As I crested a small rise, there was a big ditch in the road. What made it especially problematic was that it was filled with an Arctic soup of water and pieces of ice. I tried to ride through it normally but the bike slid back as the departure slope was coated with ice and the bottom too seemed to be coated with the stuff. So, I bounced up and down on the seat a couple of times to get the rear tyre to grip the bottom and then got off the bike. Using the throttle and clutch and sheer brute force, I pushed the bike ahead and upwards and she was out of the ditch in one fast maneuver.

The effort made me hyperventilate like a thirsty dog in summer but I had the decency to not hang my tongue out! A few minutes of deep breathing later, I was ready for the final stretch, making a mental note to tell the authorities on top to fill in that ditch before some chap skidded and had a bath in it.

Khardung LaNorth Pullu The descent from Khardung La is quite fast and within a few minutes, I was approaching North Pullu. It was nothing like I remembered from all those years ago. Then, it comprised a collection of just a couple of huts. Its function then was as a reporting point for Army convoys transiting Khardung La and as a checkpost for civilians as is the usual practice in these areas. Now, it was much more extensive.

I parked in front of a curious gazebo-like structure with glass walls and a sloped roof; I could see some track suit clad people playing table tennis inside.
When I opened the door, a blast of hot air hit me in the face, bringing a feeling of instant comfort and well-being; I had forgotten as to how cold I had become on top of the pass and on the descent.

Introductions followed and I was pleasantly surprised to meet two regimental officers there. It transpired that their battalion was slated for the tenure on the Northern Glacier at that time and these officers with their men were acclimatising in North Pullu before starting the long walk and climb to the posts.
It was a great feeling to be amongst officers and men of the same thread. We exchanged some regimental gossip and news about our units etc.

It was about 1230h now and despite the tea and biscuits in the gazebo, I was quite hungry and requested the Officer Commanding North Pullu, a Major, if he could get me a quick slapdash meal. He not only agreed but opened the Officers Mess and arranged a simple lunch for me.

The RAJPUT officers saw me off after lunch. I wished them the best of luck for their tenure on the glacier; they would need it in the months ahead.

KhalsarThe Nubra Valley Some Googling reveals that the word Nubra is a corruption of the word Ldumra, which in Ladakhi, means valley of flowers. And I must say that to a substantial extent, the valley lived up to its name. Right from the time that I left North Pullu behind, the valley below was in bloom with a myriad of wild flowers in mainly Arctic pastel shades and at times typically tropical ones. Now I am no botanist so can identify only the most basic flowers and plants and I was happy that members of my limited floral lexicon were indeed present in the Nubra Valley. There was a riot of bougainvillea, wild roses in red and white and other small and large blooms, all basking in the bright sunlight and waving their heads in the balmy breeze. The long and bitter winter was over and Summer was here and nowhere was it being celebrated with greater carefree abandon than here, thousands of feet above sea level, in the Nubra Valley.

Sasoma

Back To Juleyland Day Seven 17 Jun Sun: Base Camp and Leh

Day Seven 17 June: Base Camp and Leh 17 Jun dawned bright and cool. The wind had blown itself out during the night and there was a soft stillness in the air. The striated stratocumulus scudding overhead promised a superb day for voyaging. I could not have asked for better conditions to reach Base Camp in. I was on time, departing at about 0800h. It would take an hour till Base Camp, an hour for looking around and I planned to start for Leh at 1000h.

Mess bill paid, baggage saddled up, visor cleaned and Ramu waved me a somewhat forlorn farewell; I had been a welcome interlude in his humdrum life and he seemed sad to see me go.

Panamik Panamik was the place where we had staged to after our tenure on the glacier for a rest and recoup period. I did not remember much of the place and rode through, at one place seeing a sign board for the hot springs. Lots of flowers growing wild, gurgling brooks by the road side, the Sun bright over my head, a fresh breeze flowing like a balm over the valley and my trusty bike powering through the turns. Life was indeed beautiful and I thanked the Almighty yet again for these privileges He gave me to take in the splendour of His eternal creations.

Summer was on and at many places, the road was crisscrossed by mountain streams filled with snowmelt rushing to join the river Nubra. I had no problems crossing them, they were gentle and in the permanent run-off areas, there was an underlying layer of concrete which did not break with the passage of seasons. At one place though, there was simply no road at all, not even a dirt track. The diversion was a river bed of stones beaten down by the Army convoys’ trucks with the faint tyre marks indicating the path to be followed. So, it was complete off-road riding on this patch and it was quite bad with lots of jolting and hammering for bike and rider.

First View Of The Siachen Glacier As I came round a curve, I saw the Sun shining on an odd black mass nestled at the far end of the valley, as if a huge mass of coal had suddenly oozed out of the valley floor. The rest of the landscape was in varying shades of brown and I realized with a shock that it was the snout of the glacier. I stopped and got out the binos and there it was, framed in the lenses, that mass of rock and ice and snow and moraine, left alone for a million years and now despoiled by Man in the furtherance of his petty egos and ambitions.

I sat there in the seat, thinking of the walk up, the stop-overs at staging camps, the climb to the posts, the nights of calm and others of tumult and of the good friends who lay entombed for ever in the icy breast of their final resting place.

There was nothing to it but to shake my head, turn my eyes to the heavens, pray for peace for their souls and the safe-keeping of their followers and ride on to meet their memories again.

A feeling of urgency came into me now and without consciously realizing it, I was riding faster, the glacier drawing me to it as if by some unseen force.

Base Camp I reached the check post and inquired about the location of 16 RAJPUT and the Siachen Memorial and I was directed by the JCO on duty to go across the bridge over the Nubra. Base Camp was a much bigger place now than I had ever known it to be.

The road was lined on both sides with small units and a varying type of huts and shelters. I followed the signboard indicating the way to the memorial. In my days, it had been on the other side of the river and must have been relocated to its present spot sometime later.

The Operation Meghdoot Memorial I rode up to the memorial and parked my bike in the lot. A virtual maelstrom of thoughts and emotions was whirling about in my heart and mind as I mounted the steps of what to me were hallowed grounds.

The memorial is beautifully laid out in a rectangular shape. It has short pillars on which are carved the details of units which have participated in the conflict. At the rear stand marble slabs with the names of the fallen braves engraved and it was to this place that I gravitated. In an inadvertent, macabre act, there are extra slabs with empty faces flanking those with names on them. Obviously, this conflict would extract more lives before it was over.

One slab in particular was of very, very special interest to me and this was the one with “22 RAJPUT” on it. My video and still camera were out and I was filming the slab, fighting the tears back and losing the battle. I touched the names on the slab and reminisced about each man. Capt Diwedi used to come to my home quite often. A good officer with a capacity for back-breaking work, an honest laugh and a prodigious capacity to put away humongous amounts of whisky. His astrologer had predicted a life of 94 years for him. My other brother officers and I had such great plans for him after the tenure. And all of it had come to naught on that post at 20,000 feet when he had been struck by the splinter of an enemy mortar shell. Rakeshmani, you live on in our thoughts till this day.

A Small Prayer I had taken a candle, a cigarette lighter and an incense stick with me. In the windswept memorial, it was hard work to light the candle and keep it burning but I managed. Ditto the incense stick. The fragrance of the incense was carried away by the wind and the flame of the candle was guttering in the thin air. But, the presence of both was sufficient for me to say a small prayer for the men

Finally, the memories of the men on my own post who had perished overwhelmed me and I sat down on the wall of the centerpiece, too overcome to do anything for a few minutes.

Havaldar Suresh, Naik Dharamveer and Sepoy Ranjit had died in front of my eyes under an avalanche which was triggered by a cornice breaking off of a wall of ice. There was nothing, absolutely nothing I could have done to save them.

I had blamed myself for a few days after the incident and it was the incredible support of two of my toughest NCOs, namely, Havaldar Narender and Rajender which had given me the strength to carry on. They told me that I had done all that could be done and it was the will of the Almighty which had prevailed.

Yet, we had not let the glacier have it all her way and we had been able to save Naik Ramniwas, horribly injured in an artillery shell burst and bleeding heavily, from her deathly embrace. Today, he is alive and well and when we meet, he gives me a bone-crushing hug and with tears in his eyes, thanks me for saving his life. He is like a brother to me. This is the Indian Army - where relations between officers and men are forged on the anvil of blood and snow and ice and fire.

Aim Achieved, Objectives Attained, Mission Complete I had been preparing for the past one year for this very day – the day when I would stand at the memorial and see the names of my friends there. I had achieved my aim of reaching Base Camp and attained my objectives of seeing the memorial and the glacier. In a sense, my mission was complete. It would be fully so when I returned home and wrote this travelogue.

Interaction With 16 RAJPUT I was stopped by some men while I was riding back to the bridge. They were a bit pissed off to see a civilian bike with what they thought to be a typical biker on it here in restricted territory. When I introduced myself, they were struck as though by a bomb shell! “Arrey wah, sir. What josh to ride up to Base Camp to meet us and remember your old times here”. What spirit you have and so on and so forth. As luck would have it, one of them was the Adjutant of 16 RAJPUT and he was overjoyed to meet a regimental officer. He urged me to meet the Commanding Officer, have lunch, stay the day and return in the evening. I was sorely tempted to take up the offer but that would mean that I would be reaching Leh on the next day. We were to go to Pangong Tso on 18th. Also, I would not be permitted to stay overnight at Base Camp but would have to stay at Sasoma again.

This did not seem very appealing to me so I elected to just have a few words with the Commanding Officer and move on. There were few issues which he did not know of and I did not want to sound presumptuous to give him advice so we just chatted about regimental issues, about General V K Singh and his battle with the bureaucracy and politicos and so on. I felt great to see my familiar colours and hear the salutations and greetings of my men. Again, I was urged to have an early lunch but the clock was ticking and so, I requested for and got a packed lunch of aloo paratha and pickles.

Earlier, I had planned to ride right up till the snout and take a few fotos. But now, I was running out of time. Also, there was no appeal to re-visit the place; I preferred to retain the old memories rather have them substituted by newer ones.

At the check post, the JCO was smiling at me. “Kaam ho gaya, saheb?” he asked me, with a wry expression on his face indicating that he thought me to be a bit unhinged to come here, on my own time, on a bike. I replied “Han, saheb. Mere shahidon ki yadon mein kho gaya, unke naam dekh liye, unke liye ek deep jalaya, bas ab laut raha hoon”
As I rode off, he had a wondering look on his face which soon changed to a knowing one and I left him there, nodding his head in agreement with the sentiment of my visit.

A Chance Encounter I re-crossed the bridge and headed back on the road I had. I was happy that I had achieved what I had come here for and the lovely weather swept away the dark clouds of sorrow and mourning that had enveloped me at the memorial. My friends were happy in the Other world and would be looking down on me from their heavenly abode and I would not be doing justice to them and their work if I were to stay unhappy. So I smiled and rode on, a feeling of infinite content and wellbeing flooding me as if sent from a divine source.

At North Pullu, I saw an Innova with a Brigadier’s pennant flying and recognized it as belonging to the Brigade Commander of 102 Infantry Brigade. I asked the JCO at the check post and he confirmed that the officer had halted there for lunch on his way to Leh. It was but natural that I went in to meet him.

He was eating his meal when I entered the Officers Mess and got up to greet me with “Kahan ghoom rahey ho, bhai?” Again, some snafu had caused him to not be informed about my visit. I did not want to show his staff in a poor light so made some light remarks, picked up my plate and ate something. He asked me about the purpose of my visit and when I told him, he was quiet for some time, nodding his head as he thought of the times I must have had on top. He was quite profuse in his compliments and I got out before I was embarrassed any further. The two officers from 16 RAJPUT saw me off again with a hearty “Bajrang Bali Ki Jai, Hanuman Key Hoon Pyare”, my regimental war cry. I started the climb to Khardung La feeling on top of the world as indeed I was.

The Sun Smiles On Khardung La In sharp contrast to yesterday’s light snowfall and chill breeze, there was bright sunshine on Khardung La, playing hide and seek with the fair weather clouds. The Commander had overtaken me on the climb and he had halted to meet the detachment on top. I waved to him and rode on.

After descending, I took a few fotos. The valley was bathed in intermittent patches of sunlight. Even the snow-clad peaks were gleaming with fresh snow melting and winking in the brightness as if conspiring with me to keep this sight to ourselves.

South Pullu passed by with nary a sideways look and I was on the last stretch of the descent, following the winding road as it changed from broken surface to good tarmac. The bad ditch of yesterday had been closed well and I noticed it only because I had been looking for it.

The Sweet Kahira About 5 odd kms short of Leh, I stopped for a quick rest by the side of the road next to a small village. As I took off the rain cover trouser and gave my feet some air, a couple of curious kids gathered around. I gave them some sweets and they went off to their pastime of tail-sliding their bicycles down the slope. I had my rest and returned to the bike when a young girl asked me if I was thirsty. She was very polite and courteous and hospitable.

I was quite taken aback when she started conversing in reasonably good English apart from excellent Hindi. She said her name was Kahira and she liked to speak with tourists in English so that her skills in that language could be practiced. I found that she was a student of Std XI at the Govt Secondary School.

She was just 2 years elder to my son and we struck an excellent rapport, chatting away about academics, work and play, even boyfriends! There in Pune, my son had no responsibilities other than doing well at his books and here in Leh, this young girl was hauling large empty barrels single-handedly onto the road for the passing water tanker, cooking meals at home, caring for her younger brother and sister and yet managing to get excellent grades at school. She dreamed of going to an art school in Delhi. I wished her all the best and gave her my last bar of Perk and that really perked her up. Hill folk are like this – simple, hardworking and full of beans, always striving to make their lives better. Hats off, Kahira and Co.

It was about 1800h by the time I reached Shanti. Vaibhav was in the room; the others were out sightseeing. All of them had spent yesterday and today in taking in the nearby tourist spots of Thiksey Gompa, Hemis Gompa, Shanti Stupa etc. We chatted for some time till they returned and then, all of us saw the fotos and videos of my trip.

In the evening, we decided to have some take-out dinner and a few drinks. But none of us wanted to get ready and move out; the others were tired after their visits all over town and I was quite fatigued with the ride to and from Base Camp. So, Neville, Fakhru and Shubham volunteered to get some nice dinner plus some spirits. Before moving out, they managed some crockery and cutlery from Mrs Dolkar and her girls.

The party that night was on my tab; I had achieved my aim and was in top form. There was lots of joking and leg-pulling going on. Shubham was harassed mercilessly for his Jain eating and (non)drinking habits but he was young enough to take it all with a laugh.

I went to bed thinking of the past two days, about Base Camp and times past and new. Tomorrow, we planned to go to Pangong Tso and return the day after.

Back To Juleyland Day Eight 18 Jun Mon: Leh and Pangong Tso

Day Eight 18 June Mon: Leh/Pangong TsoAn Israeli Repast Soon, I was hungry and went down to the market near Changspa where a cluster of eateries and restaurants jostled for space. Earlier on in our wanderings, I had spotted a relatively large place; it was at a lower level than the road and had tables laid out in the open. It seemed to be a multi-cuisine place with a good selection on the menu. After consulting the stewards, I settled for an Israeli dish known as a falafel. I in no way am a gourmand so had to question the steward quite extensively in order to understand what it was that would constitute a falafel. But my fears were unfounded. The dish was simple, very tasty and very filling. I had the non-veg variant and it was really good; with generous portions of roast chicken, hummus, sweet peas and other vegetables. The portion size was also very generous, so much so that I was able to eat only half of it and had to carry the remainder half back to the room. The icing on the cake, so to speak was the price – only Rs 80! It was really good for the price, far better than the Subway sandwich which is a poor cousin.

I was quite drowsy by now so headed back to the hotel for a nap.

A Philosophical Evening In the evening, I went down to the kitchen to prepare my coffee as had been my wont for the past 2 days. A gentleman was seated there and I got talking with him. One meets such interesting people in tourist places... I forget his name now. He was in the petroleum business in Canada and used to come to India for meditation sessions.
A foot-loose, fancy-free bachelor with money to burn and what does he do? Attend classes for yoga and seminars on spiritualism (obviously linked to divinity and not to Bacchus!) and seek audiences with the Dalai Lama. He was very friendly and a good conversationalist and we had a fine time. It helped that his father had been an officer in the Army so there were some points of commonality between us. I was quite amused when he said that his spiritualism had become a barrier between him and prospective brides and that was the reason for his prolonged bachelorhood. I congratulated him for having seen the light without having to switch it on!

Neville And Gang Are Back! I had returned to the guest house and was chatting with Mr Tsewang about our plans for tomorrow when somebody in a helmet asked me for the room's keys. Wondering as to whom it may be, I asked and to my utter surprise, there stood Fakhru! He said that they had changed their plan and had ridden back after taking in Pangong Tso. He was followed by Vaibhav who huffed and puffed his way in and then by Shubham and Neville. Now, I had impressed upon my friends that it was downright dangerous to travel at night in these parts – some many things could go wrong, landing them into deep trouble – that I had been sure of their stay at Spangmik or Tangtse. And here they were, all pepped up with the ride and the sight of Pangong Tso. Well, I did mention my unhappiness but did not belabour the point further.

Neville explained that they had initially planned to stay the night at Spangmik or Tangtse but only if they were late in reaching Pangong Tso. As everything went as per plan, they found no reason to stay on and so, had decided to return to Leh.

The Team At Pangong Tso Here is the log for Pangong Tso, in Fakhru's words.

After Maneesh returned from Siachen base camp on the evening of 16th June, the team got down to discussing the next day’s plan. Pangong Tso was the major pending place that could not be missed!

Maneesh was really tired after the Siachen ride and had already seen Pangong Tso a couple of times during his posting here in Ladakh in the 90’s. So he decided that he would take 17th June as a day off and do some local sightseeing. Neville, Vaibhav, Shubham and I had already visited the major monasteries including Druckbeat school (where “3 Idiots” had been filmed). So we decided to visit Pangong Tso and spend the night of 17th there or at Tangtse.

The team got on their bikes on 17th morning. The ideal time at which we were supposed to reach Pangong after crossing Chang la (one of the highest passes in the world) was around 1pm. The road towards Chang la was smooth, however, it became terrible some 5km towards the pass. The bikes were in 1st or 2nd gear for most of the time and the team got really tired. We descended from Chang la and around 4-5 hrs had passed from the time we started but still there was no sign of the lake, only grey, barren mountains lay ahead. Suddenly towards a turn, we saw a car filled with foreigners who were taking pictures of an entity many kilometers away. The gang stopped and finally realized that Pangong was giving them its first glimpse – pure blue.

The effect of seeing the lake after hours of riding was mesmerizing. As we approached the lake, the colours kept changing from deep blue to sky blue to green. It was like the lake was alive.

We decided to have lunch in one of the army cafeterias, rajma chawal to the fullest. It took some time for the men to cook it up, so the team decided to do some photography. Shubham and I with our young blood were not satisfied with the glimpse of the lake, filled with people alighting from their SUVs and playing in the water and thus spoiling the entire view.
We went on far ahead in the direction of the China border, where the road was just sand. After a couple of kilometers when the bikes were no longer to fight against the sand, we decided to give up. It was pure peace without any living being around.

Finally we decided to return. There were a couple of eco tents opposite the lake, charging Rs 3000 per night with dinner and breakfast for a gang of four. The team was still not sure about their stay as there was not much to do near Pangong and a night stay would spoil the next day which could be used to start the return journey.

Shubham and I joined Neville and Vaibhav who had already consumed enough of the delicious rajma to make them immobile. A quick gulp of some hot tea and we were rejuvenated. The gang after a lot of discussion decided to return back to Leh on the same day.

Shubham wanted some pics, Neville and Vaibhav wanted to look to some souvenirs and I wanted to collect some garnets from the Garnet Hill. So the team split up and decided to meet up again in 20 mins. Ultimately, Shubham got some good clicks, Neville and Vaibhav some good souvenirs but I couldn’t get any garnets, though I got some 20 odd pink stones, none being garnets.

It was already 4pm by the time the team got back together and there were no cars to be seen around the lake. It was completely isolated with just a group of two bikers almost ready to leave. The weather near the lake started to become funny, with sudden winds blowing and a storm building up.

Everyone decided to leave asap. I took the lead and Neville instructed everyone to quicken up the pace as we had to cross Chang la. Maneesh had told us about an unsaid rule in Ladakh. “Never cross a pass after 3pm”. This is because there is no help available in the post noon hours.

When the team reached Chang la, we were surprised to see that there was no living soul there. We wasted no time and quickened our pace further. The weather was turning bad, with the cold increasing every second. We were touching 70 kmph at one point of time in the mountains. We were able to save 30 mins while approaching Chang la from Pangong Tso and 30 mins while reaching the Manali - Leh highway on the other side of Chang la.

It was around 7.30pm when we touched the Manali Leh highway. The sun had set and it was pitch - dark. Vaibhav took the lead and guided everyone towards Leh in the darkness. The highway is notorious due to the speeding cars and trucks so we had to regulate our speed to low 60s for safety.

Finally, after an hour, at around 8.30-9.00pm we reached Shanti guest house. Maneesh was having a conversation with the owner Mr Dorjey. I was still wearing my helmet and approached him and asked him for the room keys. He couldn’t understand who was it.

On removing the helmet he was taken aback to see me and the rest of the gang. He couldn’t imagine us here. It was difficult for him to believe that we had returned back to Leh on the same day. He took our case in the room and scolded us for taking such a risk. If anyone’s bike had given some trouble, the whole team would have been stuck on the pass for the entire night without any help. Thankfully, nothing of that sort had happened. When I revealed my collection of 20 odd stones, we all could only have a hearty laugh. None were garnets, they were just mountain stones with a pink/red tinge that I had mistaken for garnets.

The gang was back safely, exhausted but I could see that they were behaving differently with a slight shimmer in their eyes. It could have been the amazing effect of Pangong Tso!

That night, dinner was in the guest house itself, a traditional sit-down Ladakhi affair. A wholesome meal of standard Indian cuisine comprising rotis, rice, vegetables, lentils etc. It was served piping hot in large bowls and one could eat as much a one wanted. I am normally not a rice eater but here, I found the rice to be simply delicious.

Back To Juleyland Day Nine 19 Jun Tue: Leh To Pang

Day Nine 19 June: Leh to Pang The day had finally dawned for us to bid farewell to Leh. We had seen the sights of town, I had been to Base Camp, the others had seen Pangong Tso and now, it was time to return. The conversation in the morning was muted as each of us went over our individual and collective experiences.

The bills had been cleared the previous evening so we got the baggage down, strapped up, fired up the bikes and turned to take a last look at Shanti Guest House. We had wanted to take a group foto with the owners but they were busy with other customers and would take a lot of time to be free so we moved on.

It was a bright sunny morning as our team streamed out of the market and headed for the Leh – Manali highway. En-route Karu, I passed some familiar places. Choglamsar (where, back then, I had bought a large, rough but extremely warm goat wool sweater for my wife) came and went by. So did Shey and Thiksey (where I had seen a gompa for the first time in my life).

Karu I had stayed in Karu for about a month or so back in 1996. But it had changed so completely over the years that I was not able to recognise anything at all. We passed through the headquarters of 3 Infantry Division, the HQ for Siachen and Leh, which is spread out over both sides of the road.

Earlier, Karu used to end quickly and there was a stretch of empty road after which came the right hand turn to Upshi. Now, I had to be really careful not to overshoot the turn; the HQ had spread its flanks all over. Thankfully, the sign posting was adequate and we took the turn for Upshi correctly.

Miru, Lato, Gya and Rumtse went by in quick succession and we were at the climb for Tanglang La.

Tanglang La This is reputed to be the second highest motorable pass in the world. The approach road is standard fare for these parts – part tarmac, part dirt and part a crazy mix of the two. One aspect which had struck me almost from the time we turned off at Upshi was that the roads on this axis seemed to be less maintained as compared to the Srinagar axis. In many places, the tarmac looked pretty old, the width was not much and all in all, this appeared to be a low-priority axis.

I reached the pass first and immediately, got the first taste of what lay ahead – a steady, chilled, high speed head wind. Tanglang La had always been windy and gusty but today, it seemed more so, perhaps to welcome us! The wind came up the valley of the Moreh plains and was funneled up to the pass. Tanglang La is unique in the sense that it is one of the few passes which lies almost perpendicular to the road axis. On the northern side lies the Upshi valley, the line of sight unbroken right up till the Jhelum and on the southern, the Moreh valley, again a straight line till the plateau over Pang. Also, the pass is narrow and short so one can walk from one end to the other and take in the vistas on both sides quite well.

The many memories of Tanglang La came to me as I strolled around the pass. We ate some biscuits, drank some water, took some fotos and videos and then moved on.

Nightmare On Moreh Street (Plains) We moved from the pass and the descent was a rock-strewn path passing off for a road. By now, both rider and bike had got used to the road conditions but that did not mean that we were any more comfortable!

Now, when I had been here earlier, the road from the base of Tanglang La till Pang had been pretty passable. In places, the tarmac had worn off but the dirt track left behind had been smooth. We used to meander around the main tarmac road, off-roading at times but not much so.

This time, the road was a living nightmare. The BRO had elevated the entire road above the general level of the plains which is the usual practice while constructing roads in areas prone to flooding. And it was covered with small pebbles in prep for laying down the tarmac. If this bed of pebbles had been covered immediately after it had been laid, the result would have been what I saw at the fag end of the stretch. But that was not done and the prolonged hammering under SUVs and heavy vehicles meant that even the
underlying layer of larger pebbles stood exposed.

For 3/4^th of the entire length, this pebble-strewn path was hell for the rider and the bike. At places, concrete bridges had been laid over the known streams and as the approach and departure were not ready, we had to go off the road and come back, repeatedly.

The wide open valley was Disneyland for the evil wind which came at us with a force which at times threatened to get us airborne. It would be blissful to celebrate Makar Sankrant here – one could hang on to the kite and reach Aksai Chin! And it was an icy wind, knifing through gloves and jackets with impunity. The time of the day – late afternoon – meant that we were in the lee of the mountain side to the west and so were in shadow, further adding to our misery. Our speed was barely 30 odd kph; any faster and we risked a tank slapper in that atrociously capricious wind which shifted directions almost as fast as a woman shifting her moods (ummm, maybe a bit slower than that...)

I was just holding on to the handlebar, blanking out any thoughts of warmth, comfort, bed, bath, food. My bike too was complaining and refusing to go beyond 2nd. I diverted my mind from its current state to coaxing and nursing the Pulsar on, whispering sweet nothings to her and thinking about completely disconnected issues like Indian politics, global warming etc. But it was hard going and I kept coming back to the pain in my hands and butt. The SUV chaps were merrily doing 80 or so and throwing millions of tonnes of dust straight into our faces. My visceral hatred of SUVs of all kinds went up many notches that day.

Towards the end of this Hell on Earth, I experienced the same surreal feeling of Mulbekh; a road lip came up and the road became a superb tarmac dream. I could see valley of the Pang River pretty soon and after a few minutes, the descent started for Pang.

The moment I turned right for the descent, the wind stopped, the sun bathed me with its kind, warm, benevolent glow and I felt human again. As usual, I had been tail end Charlie and I could see my buddies looping around the turns. We had reached Pang.

This stretch, for me personally, was the toughest of the entire trip. Khardung La etc had been a walk in the park compared to this horrible patch from Tanglang La to Pang and I think my friend shared my sentiments. The fight against the wind had seemed never-ending and I was really tired of it when Pang came.

Pang: The Real Army We reached Shireen’s dhaba at about 1800h. I introduced myself, told her about my time at Pang in July-Aug 96 etc. Over the years, she had expanded herself (:-)) and her establishment to include a tent at Sarchu too. We were settled down in the tent adjoining the kitchen and unloaded the bikes.

I proposed to Neville that we should check out the Army detachment close by; I was curious to see it after these many years. We went down to the main gate and I got talking to the sentries on duty, only to find that it was being manned by 17 RAJPUTANA RIFLES, the unit from which I had taken over an operational role in Jammu. The sentry spoke to the Officer Commanding of the det, Major Atul Srivastava who was out on an evening walk and he promised to meet us at the dhaba.

When we returned to the dhaba, the others had taken off their boots and were digging into omelets.

Maj Srivastava met us there and we chatted about Jammu and related issues. When he found that I was from 22 RAJPUT, the connection dawned on him and he insisted that we stay in the guest rooms in the det. I demurred, stating that we had already booked Shireen’s tent but he was not to be deterred. So, we gave Shireen some money as compensation, loaded our luggage into the officer’s Gypsy and rode down to the det.

Earlier, where there had been two huts here, now there were three. Where I used to stay was now the No 1 Guest Room meant for senior officers who happened to visit this place while the other two were for juniors; Maj Atul had a hut for himself which he shared with the base doctor. We were given these two and when we entered them, they had already been warmed by the kerosene fired heaters. An orderly got buckets of hot water and we had a wash.

Dinner was in the Officers Mess by ourselves; the OC was supervising some work and would be late so had left word for us to carry on. What a difference even small levels of comfort can make - a warm room, warm water for a wash, a change of clean clothes and now, a warm, simple and tasty meal for the weary wayfarers. We tucked into our meal without much ado and found the strength returning to our tired minds and limbs. Before leaving the Mess, I profusely thanked the staff and paid the bill.

Back to the hut, Neville was my partner and we chatted for a bit about my time here all those years ago before sleep overtook us. Neville’s coal miner’s lamp was very useful when the generator was switched off so we did not have to stumble around.

Back To Juleyland Day Ten 20 Jun Wed: Pang To Keylong

Day Ten 20 June Wed: Pang To Keylong We had had an excellent rest the prior night and Neville and I were up pretty early. We changed fast and I went to check up about the other three. Shubham was still dopey and I had to tease him a bit to get him going.

The bikes were loaded up and after an excellent breakfast, we took some fotos with Maj Atul. I told him about my humiliation at Srinagar and he agreed with my views that the real Army was to be found at remote outposts rather in big HQs. All of us were quite profuse in our thanks, especially I.

We rode out with glad spirits, ready to take on the notorious Baralach La. For, many riders had told us stories about deep slush and non-existent roads in that area. We had debated about how to tackle the pass and had decided that, if need be, all of us would ride across bad patches without the baggage and return on foot to pick up the baggage piecemeal.

Lachung La came and went without any cause for concern.

Sarchu We halted for a break at Sarchu. There was considerable accommodation here for the Army convoys plying the route. Some tea, some biscuits and we were now ready for Baralach La.

Baralach La The approach to the pass is rife with numerous water crossings which are quite deep in places. I used to go ahead, reconnoiter the place, decide upon a route to follow and ride through. The others would then follow my path. This way, we eased up the ascent, on the lookout for the infamous slush and bad patches. But, they never came up!!! The road was really quite good with lots of water crossing it from the snow melting on the sides and the pass was crossed before we realized that Baralach La had gone by. There was one place which had the ubiquitous Tibetan flags all covered with slush and mud which we later deduced had been the saddle.

It was actually the most beautiful pass that I had seen among all those we had crossed since our trip began. Pristine, untouched and unspoiled by man, the place was bathed in the evening Sun’s mellow rays. Immediately after the pass, there was a semi-frozen lake on the left; I forget the name now. The entire area was calm, peaceful and divinely tranquil and there was only the sound of our bikes as we trespassed into this lovely land. Sadly, none of us stopped to take any fotos but the memory of that vista will stay with me for many, many years to come.

Darcha Many years ago, Darcha had been infamous for the bridge over the Pagal Nala which used to get washed off ever so frequently. I did not recognise this nala at all; we must have crossed it among the innumerable streams in that patch. We crossed the now permanent bridge and were on the other side with no fuss.

At the police check post, we entered our details and moving ahead, saw a line of dhabas where we stopped for lunch. All of us were a bit tired and hungry and the dhaba was warmed by the Sun’s rays filtering through the fiberglass roof panes; it was a cozy place. We had a solid lunch of potato curry, lentils and scrambled egg.

Gomur and Stingiri came and went by.

Keylong When I had been chatting with Mr Spirituality back at Leh, he had mentioned some hotel at Keylong near the bus stop so we started looking out for the sign boards leading to the bus stop. On the outskirts of the town, there was a decent hotel which we chose as the night halt. Neville and I went in to check it out and spoke to the chap behind the front desk about room rents etc (later, he turned out to be the cook!) The rate was Rs 2000 for the night which we haggled down to Rs 1800.

Actually, it was a suite of two rooms so Neville chose the outer room, the three bedmates of Vaibhav, Shubham and Fakhru chose the large double bed while I elected to sleep on a mattress on the floor.

The view outside was quite nice. The hillsides were dotted with cottages and houses with sharply sloped roofs to take on heavy snowfall in the winters.

The hotel chap helpfully gave us a shuttered shop to park the bikes. We hauled the baggage to the rooms and relaxed for some time. After a couple of cool beers, we went for dinner in the restaurant on the mezzanine. The meal was not at all tasty; the noodles were downright pathetic. Obviously, our cook seemed to be better suited for front office duties than behind his stove!

There was some very soft music playing on the hotel’s PC-based music system and I found that it was a collection of Tibetan chants. The music was magically soothing and then Neville told me that he had got a CD of this stuff from Leh and would give me a copy when we reached home.

Back To Juleyland Day Eleven 21 Jun Thur: Keylong To Bhuntar

Day Eleven 21 June Thur: Keylong To Bhuntar We anticipated good roads from hereon and so were relaxed in getting ready. Thankfully, the breakfast of omelets and toast was infinitely better than the previous night’s dinner and we were soon saddled up and on our way.

The famous fuel station at Tandi came up; we filled our tanks for the leg as part of our usual practice. I got chatting with some tourists who had come up from Mumbai.

Gondla, Sissoo and Khoksar went by in quick succession.

Rohtang La The approach to Rohtang La is a long plain stretch of road from Khoksar till Gramphoo where the climb starts for the pass. The weather was just purrfect for biking – light clouds scudding in an otherwise azure sky, a light breeze across the valley and a good road surface. The traffic picked up a bit here though it was mostly minibuses and trucks. Also, as the climb started, the road progressively deteriorated to places where there was just a dirt track.

When we reached the pass proper, we got the shock of our lives. Nothing in the previous days had prepared us for the sight of such a huge mass of humanity crowding one small area. There were tourists doing every conceivable thing there except bonking one another. They were climbing the snow-clad sides, throwing snowballs at each other, sliding on it, jumping on it and some geniuses were even eating it! And at every 10 meters, no, every 1 meter, there was a stall selling packaged food – chips, wafers et al – and beverages. Women in sarees trying to get into insulated snow suits, kids running around screaming with ecstasy with their parents looking on indulgently, young couples (so obviously newly wedded) getting all touchy-feely, ATVs meandering around on the snow, newbie skiers sliding down nervously, everybody’s jaws chewing something and the taxis trying their best to kill anybody on the road and plastic bottles EVERYWHERE – it was a real-life Stygian nightmare.

There was a small helicopter flapping about, giving rich tourists a panoramic view of possibly the filthiest and most horrible mountain pass in the whole wide world. (Much later, I got to know that its crew was two of my colleagues, erstwhile Army Aviation pilots)

A word about the taxis here. This place seems to have the rudest and most insulting taxi drivers in the country. And to top it, they have atrocious driving skills. Vaibhav and I were almost sideswiped by one stupid Alto chap; we tried to catch up with him but he vanished in the melee.

None of us stopped, and as if by some unsaid consensus not one of us took a single foto. We had seen the might of Khardung La and Chang La, the heavenly beauty of Baralach La and this place was Hellish in comparison. We just hunkered down and rode on, trying to avoid the stalls and the kids and the murderous taxis.

It was after descending the pass and having stopped for lunch that I realized that I was perspiring, for the first time since leaving Keylong. The Sun was hot and the place dusty with the constant passing of vehicles.

Our lunch was very good – rotis, vegetables and lentils with Amul flavoured milk for starters.

Marhi, Gulaba, Kothi and Palcha swept by and soon, we were in the outskirts of Manali.

Manali I had last been to Manali in 1997 with my wife, again on a bike (then, my beloved KB – 125RTZ) and had not liked the place one bit. This was true even now. If anything, Manali had grown more crowded, dusty, dirty and hot over the past years.

As we were driving along the main road which I think is called The Mall, I saw the signboard of the Himachal Tourism hotel on the right. I turned back and drove up the road, followed by the others. Vaibhav and I went in to ask for rooms and we got an emphatically negative reply. The hotel was chock-full for the next whole month and the receptionist recommended some place down the road called Apple Valley and so we rode on.

Back on the road, I was barely able to see the sign for Apple Valley, so I overshot and turned back. My turn-off was so quick that only Vaibhav was able to follow while we both saw the rest 3 ride by serenely. No amount of shouting halted them so we decided to check the hotel out and meet up with the rest later.

The place was quite expensive-looking and this apprehension was confirmed when the receptionist quoted a rate of Rs 3500 for one room without meals. This was a bit too much for us as it would entail an expenditure of more than Rs 7000 just for one night. We passed it up and turned back to the road. The others halted some distance ahead and we decided to look for rooms in Bhuntar instead where we anticipated more appealing fares.

When I saw it, I was unable to believe my eyes the first time so I went up close and confirmed the identification. Yes, it was a Volvo bus, stopped by the roadside to take on passengers. A Volvo bus, here, on the road between Manali and Kulu, where at places, it was dicey for two Maruti Altos to pass each other. And when the driver started off, I was really terrifyingly impressed. He was handling the bus with a combination of the skills of a Rossi, a Loeb and a Senna. What a sheer waste of talent, I thought. Here was a man who could win the 2013 MotoGP, WRC and Formula 1 title while chewing his betelnut and smoking his beedi and what was he doing? Driving a Volvo bus. Tch, tch, such a waste. His passengers must have been one privileged lot, though. I am sanguine that an ECG taken there in the bus would have taught cardiologists the truth about the limits that the human heart can endure and yet keep ticking and in this case, hammering away...

Katrain and Raisen went by.

Kulu We stopped for a rest on the embankment of the Beas River, short of the main overbridge just before Kulu. Nicely, one ice cream cart came by followed by a second which had Amul ice cream. As usual, we had one each while Neville had to have two, to soothe his sweet tooth!

All along this patch, there were numerous rafting stalls, offering short thrills over the reasonably turbulent waters in inflatable dingies. I remembered the rafting expedition during my cadet days at the IMA when an officer's wife had gone into the drink and he had hauled her up by her hair, very much akin to a caveman dragging his mate into the cave. Some memories never die...

Bhuntar At one place, we halted and looking up, I saw a hotel named Malabar on the left. Shubham, Vaibhav and Fakhru went to check up another one on the other side while Neville and I checked out “Malabar”. It was quite nice and the management offered us the family suite when they heard of our needs. This was the second time I had heard of such an entity as a family suite; the first had been at Shanti in Leh when we had occupied similar rooms. It comprised a two room set with double beds in each room for hubby-wife and the kid(s). The fare of Rs 2000 for the night was par for the course. But before committing anything, we also looked at the other one; it was no patch on Malabar so we decided to stay at Malabar.

The room was pretty nice as can be seen in the video. While I freshened up, Neville and Vaibhav went looking for some good take-out dinner and Fakhru and Shubham went shopping for exotic fruits. They got back with dinner, chilled Fosters cans and an assortment of plums, raw almonds, peaches and bananas.

We had a nice evening there in Bhuntar. For us, it was warm so the AC was going full blast. Dinner was out on the patio of the room and we hit the sack pretty early. Tomorrow would be a long, hot day...

Back To Juleyland Day Twelve 22 Jun Fri: Bhuntar To Ambala

Day Twelve 22 June Fri: Bhuntar To Ambala In the morning, I was packing my stuff when I heard the familiar sound of aero engines. When I went out to the rear of the room, I found that the hotel was almost touching the boundary wall of the Bhuntar civil airport. There was a Kingfisher Airlines ATR – 72 on final approach to Runway 34. Some other guests too watched this private little air show. I found a foto on the Internet which clearly shows our first floor room in Hotel Malabar as seen from the airport.

I cleaned the bike’s air filter to prep her for the plains. We had breakfast, paid the bills and set course.

Pandoh Aut and Thallout went by and we were soon in the vicinity of the Pandoh dam. All over India, photography of our great dams (the temples of Modern India, as per Jawaharlal Nehru) is prohibited for “security” reasons so we stopped earlier for a rest and some clicking.

Now, for the past about a km or so, I had noticed that there seemed to be a confluence of rivers up ahead so we stopped at that very place. It was a pretty sight of two rivers becoming one. Actually, it was a small mountain stream merging with the Beas River. The stream had clearer water while the river, flowing down hundreds of kilometers thru the mountains, had accumulated debris.

Mandi We crossed Mandi fast; it was almost midday and the traffic was terrific. Mandi was another crowded tourist town in the hills.

From Mandi till Ner chowk, the road was superb. But then, once we turned onto the road for Swarghat, the surface worsened into undulations of rough patches.

The Heat Takes A Hold All of us, over the past few hours, had noticed that the heat had started affecting us quite hard. On this leg, we had to stop on three separate occasions to take in refreshments and fight off the dehydration setting in. At one of these halts, we were drinking some superb lemonade and crunching into succulent cucumbers when I had an attack of dizziness. I had been having these spells on and off over the past few years so was not concerned. It passed and we were moving again.

The Last Of The Hills We reached Swarghat at about 1330h. It was blazingly hot and humid as we turned off at a dhaba for lunch. When I looked back at the road we had ridden down from and then ahead to where we were to ride on, I realized that the last of the hills had passed by and we were back to the plains. The change was quite abrupt; to one side the tree-dotted climbing hills towards Kulu and on the other, the plain, dusty highway towards Rupnagar.

There was an AC in the dhaba but it was too puny to make any difference to the sweltering heat so we elected to sit out under the awning and have our lunch of rotis, paneer, dal makhani followed by ice cream.

From here to Rupnagar, the road was a bit poor with potholes and many dusty patches.

The Start Of The Six Lanes We exited from Rupnagar on to the excellent six lane highway to Chandigarh aka NH 21. But I did not really relish riding on this in the heat on a small Pulsar laden down with baggage. Our formation kept changing with Vaibhav and Neville changing lead intermittently.

We had again to stop for coolers along the way, the heat was really getting to us. I was especially badly off due to excessive perspiration.

At one place, Vaibhav and I were in the lead and were stopped at a police check post. My bike had a Rajasthan number while Vaibhav’s had a MH number. I intro’d myself and informed the cops that we were part of a team of bikers from Pune and Mumbai and that three of our mates would soon follow.

The rotund Haryana cops, lolling around in the police outpost without any obvious work, seemed bored and were obviously looking forward to extorting bribes but seeing my Army identity card, their demeanour changed completely and they waved us by without any hassles.

A Missed Turn At Kharar We kept riding on towards Chandigarh, weathering the heat and missing the cold, crisp and clear air of the mountains.

A sign board for the turnoff to Kharar came up and I knew that I had seen this name somewhere. Yet, we carried on, thinking that the turn towards Ambala would materialize ahead. Finally, we stopped as there was no sign of Neville and Shubham; Fakhru had joined us soon after the police post. A tiny shack gave us some shelter from the Sun and the ceiling fan was fighting a losing battle with the still, humid air. I saw a familiar bottle of soda – the famous “goti soda” and we had two lemonades each.

Fakhru and Vaibhav kept calling Neville and Shubham but there was no answer from them. When Shubham did answer, we asked him for his location and confirmed that Neville was also with him. At that time, the two were about 32 kms from Ambala so we asked them to halt at any place affording some shade and a cold drink. We moved off after resting for about 20 odd minutes.

The kilometer stone read 32 kms to Ambala and then successively 31, 30, 29 and 28 and yet, there was no sign of Neville and Shubham. I had started fearing the worst – that these two had reached Ambala and were waiting for us at some odd place.

We had turned on to the highway to Delhi and had just passed a flyover when I saw Shubham sitting on the road with Neville near him. We stopped there and conferred about the next step. Locals informed us that Ambala Cantt was about 7 kms from where we were presently.
From my earlier experience at Srinagar, I was a bit loathe to try for accommodation at any Officers Mess in the Cantt; a negative answer would mean that we would have to traipse all the way back to town. So we decided to stay in Ambala City.

Ambala Having waded thru cows and veggie carts and typical crazy traffic, we reached a hotel which had AC rooms. The room was okayish with four beds with space to squeeze in a fifth too. The AC seemed to be quite new but the attendant was reluctant to prove to us that it did indeed function properly. We spoke to the owner who assured us that all was well with the AC. And then, the owner sprang a nasty surprise. He warned us that the lane in front of the hotel was prone to theft of bikes parked in the open! Now we were in a quandary as to what to do.

Seeing our state, the owner recommended that we stay at Hotel Amar Palace which was but a short distance away. The hotel belonged to him and it had proper parking spaces for our bikes, so he said.

By now, I was hit very hard by heat stroke and barely able to move. I felt light-headed, feverish and there was a funny pit in my stomach. There seemed to be no energy left in me to even sit up properly. I just wanted to lie down and sleep.

The others did not seem to be so badly discomfited at all. Vaibhav and Fakhru had earlier gone to check up on a hotel near the railway station and on their return, when they pronounced it unsuitable, they had to check up on this Amar Palace too. Fortunately, they had better tidings and we went off to Amar Palace.

This was a much better outfit at the same rate of Rs 2000 per night and we settled into our room with the AC going full blast. The AC was leaking water on to the sofa and despite the ministrations of the hotel support staff, the problem persisted. However, this was the hotel’s headache, not ours. The room had a nice setup for tea and coffee with a hot water kettle and the beverages in small sachets. We polished this off pronto. Neville put his innovation – shirt drying on circulating fan – to good use.

An important discussion took place around this time. This was regarding our night halts over the next four days. The original plan envisaged halts at Delhi, Gwalior, Mhow and Nasik. But from Ambala, Delhi was only 200 kms away and if we halted in Delhi, we would waste almost half a day’s riding time. And when we checked Google Maps for alternatives, we found that we were landing up in small hick towns. Ultimately, a unanimous decision was taken to ride on to Delhi and depending on everybody’s health, we could decide to move on or to stay the night in the capital.

Dinner that night was purely veg as the restaurant was also so. Some runty kids were running around and disturbing the peace and they had to be controlled by their parents – typical Indian restaurant scene.

We were tired out and hit the sack. Tomorrow would be another hot day on the road for we planned to reach Delhi.

Back To Juleyland Day Thirteen 23 Jun Sat: Ambala To New Delhi & Mumbai/Pune

Day Thirteen 23 June Sat: Ambala to New DelhiA Council Of War And A Major Change Of Plans We halted for a break at a mofussil dhaba. It was very warm, yet I preferred a hot, sweet cup of tea over the cold lassi.

I then laid out the options to the other members. The first was to proceed as planned with night halts in Delhi, Gwalior, Mhow and Nasik. The second was to ride till Delhi, load the bikes on to trains and fly down to Mumbai/Pune.

Neville was all for adopting the change. After some discussion, Fakhru too opted for it. Vaibhav came on board after he and Neville had checked the air fares for that day to Mumbai and Pune. Shubham was not for it, primarily because he had wanted to visit his parents at Bhopal en-route.

The Financial Implications.

Comparo Therefore, Option B was costlier by Rs 4000 or so. When put a different way, it meant adding just about Rs 1000 per day to Option A. The gain would be four clear days, zero wear and tear of the bike and a relief from the heat of the bloody Indian summer at its peak for the rider. Personally, it was a very attractive deal considering that I would get four days extra with my family before returning to my duty station.

We discussed some more, mainly because some member (I forget who it was) was against the change of plans at such a stage. His take was that once the plan had been made to ride all the way down, we should implement it accordingly. My rationale was that in any undertaking of this type, one must retain the flexibility to amend the plan as per circumstances and not blindly pursue a preset course of action. Fortunately, my reasoning was able to convince the member and we rode on, with the objective being Delhi.

A Minor Race Against Time A new factor came into play once we had changed our plan. This was to do with time. From where we started off post discussion, Delhi was still more than 100 kms away. We would need to complete two major tasks if we were to fly out the same day, namely to book our bikes on trains leaving for Mumbai and Pune and book our air tickets.

We decided to first head to the railway station, pack our bikes and book them on trains and then move to the airport for the air tickets.

New Delhi Railway StationAmbala Heat Stroke Redux SquaredFarewell To ShubhamThe Return Flight

First of all a Heartfull salute to a soldier from a fellow citizen. whenever, i see a soldier the first thing i do is thank him for the assured sleep we have at nights. So i would like to thank you on behalf of xbhp (brotherhood of bikers) . I always wanted to become Fighter jet Pilot. I guess the most longest and professionally written logs that i have came across. Well gulped down 2 cups of coffee still reading. I can understand the harassment done to tourist in Kashmir, the situation is better in jammu atleast. as even i visited in december 2011. we had arguments almost daily with the localities. Takecare

Reply in Bold

Back To Juleyland:

The Homecoming The flight landed in Pune a couple of minutes early at 2140h, no doubt assisted by helpful tailwinds at flight level 380.

On getting out of the aircraft, I was comforted by the hill station-like climate of Pune. It had rained a few minutes prior to our landing and the air was almost chill. What a tremendous difference there is between the weather of Delhi and that of Pune, even in the month of June.

I had not informed my wife about the change of plans so she was under the impression that we were all at Delhi, staying the night over. I called her from the airport after moving out and just as she came on the line, the announcement speaker started blaring out! Vaibhav looked at me with evil eyes that said “the game is up, boss” but I was saved; she did not hear the speaker while I gave her a droll situation report of the day's proceedings, conveniently omitting to mention that I was in fact already in Pune.

It was about 2230 when I reached home. I rang the doorbell, my wife opened the door and asked in an officious tone “Yes, who is it?” I did not reply so she peeked out and saw me and got the shock of her life! “Ooooh, oh my God, it is YOU, how, why, what...” the questions flew thick and fast. I lugged the baggage in while she looked at me as if not believing what she was seeing.

A quick dinner, the first at home after 12 days, was rustled up by her while I had a chilled beer and related the story about the change of plans. The kids had gone to bed but on hearing the commotion, they awoke and ran out to hug me. There is something strange about women, adult and child alike. They weep when they are sad and again when they are happy. Both, my wife and daughter had tears in their eyes while my son gave me a once-over look which spoke volumes about how happy he was to see me return safely.

Epilogue The next morning, I sat unpacking my baggage, clearing the dust of Moreh plains off the jacket and wondering if it had all been a dream, something like “Inception”. But, the sand on the clothes and bike was real as was the tear in the gumboots which I had mended at Sasoma with the puncture repair kit. The fotos were real as were the videos. And of course, there was no spinning top... Then and there, I knew that I would be doing this trip once again, some time in the years to come.

On 25 June, I got an SMS from Shubham stating that he had reached Bhopal safely. So, with the last member of our team reaching home, our trip was well and truly over and most successfully so.

Our bikes reached on 24 June but due to some cock-up, we could collect them only on 26 June. They were unmarked from the rail journey, thank God.

This writeup is long and detailed simply because there was no way I could do justice to our experience as a team and that of mine personally in any other way. Yes, brevity is the soul of wit but not when the tale is to be told completely in letter and spirit, in bouquet and flavour.

Back To Juleyland: Heartfelt Thanks and Credits

Credits


Many thanks to the moderators of xbhp.com and bcmtouring.com for approving the threads and keeping them live for all this time. The posts on these two threads plus the efforts of other members helped me no end.




I owe a considerable debt to two special persons. One is Vishwas Mokashi aka trustvishwas of xBhphttp://www.xbhp.com/talkies/tourer/1...tml#post446456

The second person is Yogesh Sarkar of bcmtouring.com







List of guest houses and hotels in Jammu, Kashmir and Ladakh: List of Hotels and Guest Houses in Ladakh

My parents had fretted enough during my Siachen tenure and were, by now, quite resigned to my late blooming adrenaline junkie avatar. They had nothing but words of encouragement and support. Salutations and Namaskaar.

My wife is a seasoned sports-person, trekker and adventurer in her own right. She had withstood the trials and tribulations of Chumathang for about 2 months with remarkable fortitude. She had wanted very, very badly to accompany me as a pillion and second rider on this trip. But I had planned to ride my model 2002 Pulsar Classic, a small bike, for this trip and it had been a Herculean task to dissuade her from coming along. I have promised her that we will go together when I acquire either the Triumph Bonneville or the Suzuki V Strom in the years to come. (This allows me to get a new bike too Colonel Mandeep Rathore of 22 RAJPUT, a dear friend and colleague who used to be my company on our rides to Vaishno Devi and Jalandhar during our time together in Kapurthala. He arranged the accommodation of my team in Nagrota, Srinagar and Kargil and all of us are grateful for his generous help.

A special thank you to Dolkar and Tsewang Dorjey of Shanti Guest House, Leh for sheltering five tired souls based on just two fone calls of a month ago. You made our day(s)!

A big thank you to Brigadier A K Das of 102 Infantry Brigade for allowing me to visit Siachen Base Camp.

Many thanks to Colonel Gaur, Commanding Officer of 16 RAJPUT for the regimental warmth and brotherhood of the paltan. I pray that you have a smooth tenure on top.

A very special thank you to Major Atul Srivastava, 17 RAJPUTANA RIFLES REGIMENT, Officer Commanding, Pang Detachment. Your courtesy, hospitality and esprit-d-corps is the backbone of the Indian Army.

Humble thanks and warmest regards to the indomitable officers and men of the Border Roads Organisation in Project Himank, Beacon and Sampark for paving the way, in every sense, for our successful ride. You guys are the greatest builders in the world.

And last but not the least, many, many thanks to my team mates, namely, Neville Shroff, Vaibhav Modak, Shubham Jain and Fakhruddin Dahodwala for tolerating my opinionated and at times, dominating personality over 12 days of hard riding. Your company was most refreshingly enjoyable. I am truly grateful to all of you for having made my dream come true. I do really hope and pray that we ride together again as the Fantastic Five. Prost!

Similar feelings here. It was really unbelievable that I was almost pushing triple digits on some of these stretches. And about the bit in Bold, I did the aforementioned stretch of road on 11th August 2012 in just 12 and a half. In fact, I took advantage of those immaculate pieces of tarmac so much that it took me just 274 minutes(4 hrs, 34 minutes) to cover the 235km from Kargil to Leh (including all kinds of breaks).

I am yet to read the entire thing but had to comment on this bit before I went any further. Please do include the pics whenever it is possible at your end. Would love to relive everything from somebody else's perspective. I had nobody apart from my little journal to share all the feelings with on my ride (since I was going solo), maybe I can finally share it with someone human now.

After one of these stretches, I checked the rear tyre. There was barely 1/2 a cm of tread left untouched so I was leaned over almost at the max limit of the tyre. That sobered me up but only a wee bit I feared my wife more than the bodily implications of a prang.

I have a Reliance Netconnect+ and my speed limit has been reached for this billing cycle so the Net is crawling like it was goinf up Khardungla in a rick. The moment it is back to normal, the fotos and videos will go up.

Thanks you very much for the salute and the compliments for the log. It is returned with similar sentiments.

Did you try for the Air Force? I guess you must have not made the cut for a variety of reasons, motivation not being among them. I was a Air Force cadet in the NDA myself but had to go to the Army due to a spinal injury sustianed during an equestrian event. Anyway, all's well that ends well. Being an ERP pro is very good work.